Sense Sonnet - Tickler

Bodily

It's plain as my nose on your face.
Shoulder to the wheel off your chest,
You jump down my throat anyplace.
There, under your skin I will nest.
My elbow greases your cold feet.
Your itchy palms pulling my leg.
A stiff upper lip, as we meet
At the top of your lungs, I beg.
Splitting hairs wet behind the ears,
Sticky fingers head over heels,
I keep your chin up through the fears,
Tongue in cheek, open arms appeals.

I cross my heart and hope to die;
I am the apple of your eye.